


butterfly mask

by jified



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Gen, body horror ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 08:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13520832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jified/pseuds/jified
Summary: she opens her mouth and tries to speak, and it's then that she realises that she has no face.The war is over. Lucina dreams of a battlefield that isn't hers.





	butterfly mask

Lucina opens her eyes. 

Around her lie broken bodies of soldiers, blood spilt over dirt, staining the grass red. Shouts and screams, as people tear through each other, spears ripping through flesh and swords rending muscle. Lucina stands, in the midst, a bystander, until someone shoves her forward.

And Lucina moves. Falchion in her hands, gripping tightly, and she wonders briefly when she picked the sword up but by then she's

a bystander

tearing through enemy soldiers. She has to. Her purpose, to fight this war (war? when did she learn-), to win for the

who?

Deliverance. Left and right and fight comes so naturally to her, like breathing in, breathing out. The air tastes metallic and the winds blow charcoal. Somewhere, 

Kliff

burns the enemy to death and the screams split the sky. The enemy begins to retreat, and as Alm calls the cry of victory, they all cheer. Lucina finds herself raising a fist in the hair, looking up into the sunny sky, glory coursing through her veins. 

Someone walks, slowly, steadily to her. Lucina turns. He greets her, and she opens her mouth and tries to speak, and it's then that she realises that she has no face. 

 

("i think i dreamt something," lucina tells severa, over drinks. they'd happened to be in the same area, and decided to catch up. lucina's missed severa, and judging by the tiny smile on severa's face, she's missed her too. 

"people actually dream every night," severa scoffs, stirring her drink with a tiny spoon. "a countless number of dreams, in fact. they just forget most of them."

"you're starting to sound like laurent," lucina teases, and severa shrieks indignantly, but she's smiling, still.)

 

It's a dungeon, this time. 

And instead of soldiers, it's the living dead. Terrors, Lucina knows, though there's a constant nagging voice telling her that they go by another name. But what? Lucina, Lucina can't. 

(living dead. walking dead. zombies. no, no, no. it's, it's not- graves? they. from graves they ri-)

Lucina clamps a hand over her mouth. Except all she feels is a smooth softness, and Lucina thinks, oh. Fingers slide over the curve of her nose, well, at least she still has that, and press into where her eyes should be, but she has no eyes. Nails dig in, sink into her malleable skin, and Lucina has no eyes but she can see the tips of her fingers as they shove their way inside her sockets (but she has no sockets, she has no face).

The realisation makes it's way through her mind, a dull throb of oh i see and maybe she should be surprised, but she isn't. 

And again (again?)

no, not again, this is her first time here

Someone shoves her forward, and her hand goes through her head and brushes silky locks. Encased in her own head, Lucina knows, she should feel soft muscle, sticky blood, cracked bone shoving their way into her arm, stinging and sharp, but she doesn't. It's like slime, yet it feels like she's grasping air. 

Still, Lucina's not surprised, and when she removes her hand to grasp the hilt of Falchion, it feels natural, the way the inky black goo on her palms burn to nothing. 

The sword cuts through the Terrors with ease. They dissipate into the cavern air, humid, stifling. Still, remains splatter all over Lucina, reeking and disgusting. They smell acrid, sulfur and lead, burning chemicals melting off Falchion. Claws tear at Lucina's clothes, but Lucina only ploughs forward, fighting, fighting, for, for

for

Victory calls. And Lucina should know something, but she's forgetting. 

 

("it's nice," lucina says. morgan looks up. smoke drifts from the tea in lucina's cup, and lucina daintily lifts it to take a sip. 

hot on her tongue, but not burning. 

"nice?" morgan parrots. her head tilts, and she blinks wide eyes at lucina.

"nice," nods lucina, and she smiles. "having you on our side, this time."

morgan pauses, then opens her mouth.

"wasn't i always on your side?" she asks.)

 

Lucina stands on concrete, surrounded by walls of a fortress. 

Screams resound around her, the cries of soldiers and the twang of arrows. A knight charges forward in armor, and a blade finds it's way through his chest. Lucina wonders of the deja vu that's overtaking her.

She doesn't remember this. But it feels so familiar. Blood splashing across her tunic, the clash of steel. The battlefield sings to her like hymms but Lucina doesn't remember ever fighting before. Lucina remembers

nothing in fact, only her name and her sword, but those are the only two that matter

Falchion looks strange, the hilt weird. Is the hole supposed to be there? Lucina remembers a far more traditional hilt, a small red gem in the middle, but Lucina dismisses it because Lucina has no memories and the only thing that matters is to swing her sword 

is it hers

Guts splatter her tunic. The shade of blue reminds her of something, but Lucina just can't remember what. And all too soon, it's stained blood red, turning a deep purple as a lance lodges in her side, and Lucina opens her mouth to scream.

But no sound comes out, and when she brings a hand up to her face to touch her lips, her nails find nothing but a flat, smooth surface. And it seems only natural to bring Falchion up to her head, to carve in her own mouth, and when the blade touches her face, everything starts to burn. 

Lucina can feel a hole melting in her head, dark inky black dripping, the hole opening wide like an unhinged jaw. Goo drips and shoots from her gaping wound, a mimicry of vomit, and from there come her screams. 

 

(lucina's the one standing by inigo when he vomits into the toilet after a night of drinking. 

"this is the male toilet, lucy," he groans out inbetween heaves. "go awayyyyy."

"shut up," lucina tells him, fond. "you're disgracing the house of the exalt."

"i know we're all family, lucy, but we aren't actually related," inigo says, and when lucina smacks him lightly on the back of the head, he urps and throws up again.)

 

It's snowing. 

Snowflakes fall, gently, swirling in the breeze. White floods the fortress gates, open to all. Lucina doesn't know where she is. 

Next to her, a boy screams emperor. 

Adjust her grip on Falchion not Falchion. What happened to the hilt? A hole where the gem is supposed to go. Oh, white stains her hands, the juxtaposition of dark and light. Sludge drips and burns. Falchion's blade shines too bright. Lucina's skin drip drops, black and thick and gooey. 

Falchion burns in her hands. Is it supposed to burn like that? Lucina thinks so. 

Bring the blade up and thrust forward. Red splatters everywhere, turns a pink in the snow. Twist and flick, oh goes the lance and Lucina lunges for the kill. This is when an arrow lodges in her gut. 

Lucina tilts, bends forward. Like a prayer, but Lucina doesn't know who she's praying to. Head hits Falchion, and as Lucina's skull dissipates into the nothing, she reaches up to brush her cheeks. 

Fingers make home in her melting face. Except, Lucina finds, that she doesn't have one. 

 

(cynthia grips her arm, gentle. lucina shudders. 

"i remember this one," she says. her nails trace a scar engraved into lucina's skin. 

"yeah," lucina says, and she finds herself thinking back. back when an enemy tore its claws through her skin. back when they were battling. back when they were battling. 

battling?

"lucina?" cynthia blinks. lucina jerks. 

"yeah?" she asks, but she can't get her thoughts out of her mind. can't get the name into her head.)

 

There is a dragon in front of her. 

"Little thing," it croons. Lucina blinks. Oh. She touches her face. No eyes. "You've been corrupted too, haven't you?"

Lucina tries to speak. Oh. She touches her face. No mouth. 

"Disgusting," says the dragon. It blinks one eye at her. "Like me."

Lucina tries to speak. Oh. She touches her face. No mouth. 

"It's easy," it says. "Use the Falchion."

Lucina tries to

"You came from the wrong place," the dragon says. 

Lucina

"Spawn of Grima," it says. 

But Olivia is her mother.

"You came," repeats the dragon. "From the wrong place."

But Olivia

"Oh," says the dragon, almost sympathetically. "Memories are a fickle thing, little one. And dimension hopping is not as easy as you'd expect."

But

"Use the Falchion," says the dragon. 

Lucina cleaves herself in two. 

 

She wakes up. 

Lucina blinks at the white ceiling, that's quickly obscured by her cousin's face. 

"Lucina?" Owain asks. There's a distinct note of worry in his tone. "Lucina? Are you alright?"

"H-Huh?" Lucina gets out, and shifts to sit up as Owain leans back. Her body twinges, and she winces slightly. Owain's expression only becomes even more furrowed. 

"Lucina," he repeats. "Were you having a nightmare? You were screaming in your sleep..."

"I," Lucina says, then stops. "I don't recall."

Wisps of her dreams fade into obscurity, and she tries to reach for the fading lights in the darkness of her memory, but they disappear into the abyss, gone. Lucina strains. She's forgetting something. Something important. Significant. 

"Lucina," Owain says again, and Lucina snaps back into focus. 

"Huh? Oh, sorry..." she apologises, trailing off. "I, I think."

Something important. Something. Falchion, and burning, and black sludge splattering-

"I," she says. Blinks, and her train of thought dissipates into mist. "I forgot."

And, like habit, her hand reaches up; fingers brush her face.


End file.
